A is for Alone and Other Drabbles
by Browncoats and Floral Bonnets
Summary: A series of drabbles, one for each letter of the alphabet. Full of angst, whump, h/c, and bromance, all around. They are stand-alones, not connected unless otherwise specified. Rating for whumpy violence and language. New chapter: E is for Extraction (Stiles whump) (again) (but lighter this time).
1. A is for Alone

A is for Alone

"Stiles, I need you to stay here. Isaac should've come back by now, I've gotta go get him," Scott said under his breath. They were currently crouched behind a dumpster, waiting for Isaac to get back from setting the trap they were using to try and catch the twins.

"Uh, no, Scott. You can't just _leave_ me here. I'm not like you. If they show up all claws and fangs and red eyes, I'm screwed," Stiles protested, grabbing Scott's shirt.

Scott sighed. Stiles had a point there. "Look, I won't be far. If anything happens, I'll hear it, and I'll come. Okay? Trust me."

Stiles tightened his jaw. "Fine," he grumbled. Scott nodded and took off. "But if I die I blame you!" Stiles shouted after him.

"I know!" Scott shouted back. And then he was gone.

"Great," Stiles mumbled. He hated being the one who always got left behind. He knew it was for a good reason, but that really didn't make him feel any better. And now here he was, alone, with nothing he could use to defend himself in case a giant, angry werewolf decided it wanted to tear his throat out.

And then he heard it-the sounds of a fight. Not like a bar fight or a high school hallway fight, but a werewolf fight, with snarling and growling and crashing into things. Fantastic. He wasn't exactly sure what to do. The smart thing would probably be to stay behind the dumpster. Or just run for it. But the smart thing could mean Scott and Isaac getting ripped apart by the Brothers Grimm.

"Ah, damn it." Stiles never was the brightest bulb on the tree. He stood up, stretching his legs to get the blood flowing again. "I'm coming, Scott."

He jogged toward the building where he'd seen Scott and Isaac go in, slowing down as he got nearer. Things had gone suddenly quiet again, which worried him down to his core. He pressed himself against the wall and edged to the door. He took a deep breath and peered around it.

The building was empty.

"Uh…Scott? Isaac?" he called nervously, cautiously walking into the room. He raised his voice. "Guys?"

Panic gripped his chest as he realized that they were gone. He pulled his phone out of his pocket, trying to keep his hands from shaking. He dialed Scott's number, and when he didn't answer, Isaac's. He wasn't surprised when neither answered.

"Great. This is just great. I love it when my friends drag me out to an abandoned building in the middle of the night and then _vanish_! This is fan-_fricking_-tastic." Stiles trudged back toward the door. "Next time, I'm not going to stay behind the dumpster. No, no, actually there isn't going to _be_ a next time. Scott and Isaac are big bad werewolves. They don't need me."

"Oh, I don't know about that. You think he's right, Aidan?"

Stiles stiffened as he heard the voice behind him.

"I dunno, Ethan. But I'm sure we could find out."

Stiles turned slowly to face them. "Hey, guys. I, uh, don't suppose you know where Scott and Isaac are? No? Well, I should probably get going. Good to see you two."

The twins grinned at each other, then at Stiles.

"Look, look. Scott's nearby, and if you touch me, I'll yell, and he will come and tear you to pieces."

"I think Kali's got him _pretty_ occupied, actually. And even if he did come to save you, he would be the one getting ripped to pieces," Ethan replied with a grin.

"How are you gonna explain this to Lydia? And Danny?" Stiles asked. "I mean, how does that conversation go? 'Oh, hey, by the way, I'm only with you so I can piss off your best friends. Whom I've been trying to kill.' Because you know they're gonna find out. At least Lydia. You know she's psychic?"

"Can we just kill him?" Ethan growled. Aidan put a hand on his shoulder.

"Deucalion would be pissed. Like, inflict serious pain pissed. But I don't see the problem with some cuts and bruises, maybe a broken bone or two."

Stiles backed up. "Okay, seriously? I'm getting really tired of being the one people use to get a point across to Scott. It's always, 'You want your friend to die?' 'Scott finds his best friend bloody and beaten to a pulp.' 'I'll shoot Stiles first.' How about Stiles just goes home and lets Scott handle his own problems from now on? Throw in a nice little plot twist!"

Ethan raised an eyebrow. "Aw. You two having some relationship issues? Well, if it makes you feel any better, I don't want to use you as a punching bag to send a message to Scott. I want to use you as a punching bag because you're a prick."

Stiles sighed, resigning himself to his fate. Aidan grabbed both his arms, yanking them behind his back. Stiles let out a cry of pain.

"Holy _crap_ I think you just dislocated my shoulder. Douche!" Stiles cried through gritted teeth, fighting back tears.

Ethan drove a fist into Stiles' stomach, and he doubled over, gasping.

"Okay, okay. Can we just-" His sentence was cut off by another blow. He coughed, knees buckling. Another fist, this time to the face, and he was spitting blood.

"Guys. Come on. Please. Please," Stiles breathed.

"I dunno, Aidan. Does that seem like enough?"

And suddenly Stiles was released, and he crumpled to the floor.

"Yeah. I think that's enough. Let's get out of here."

And then they were gone. And then Stiles was alone, again. Only now his shoulder was popped out of place, and his ribs were aching, and face hurt a lot.

"Stiles? Stiles, are you here?"

Stiles frowned. "Alison?" he called. "Is that you?"

Alison came into the building, kneeling next to him. "Oh, man. You okay? Holy crap, your shoulder!"

"Alison, what are you doing here?" Stiles asked, utterly confused now.

"I need to pop that back in."

Stiles' eyes widened. "Naw, it's fine. It's okay."

Alison helped Stiles sit up, then grabbed his shoulder, making him hiss in pain. "Deep breaths, Stiles. On three. One…two…" And then she jerked, up and back. Stiles let out a scream, then, gasping, looked up at Alison.

"That…that feels better. Thank you. How'd you…never mind, I don't wanna know." She helped him to his feet and they headed out into the night. "What the hell are you doing here?"

Alison looked down, embarrassed. "Scott called me. When he realized Kali had Isaac, he had to go after them. And he knew that you probably wouldn't stay behind the dumpster, and that the twins were probably going to show up. And I wasn't doing anything, so…I got here right as the twins were leaving. Sorry I didn't get here sooner."

Stiles stared at Alison in disbelief. "Scott called you to _babysit_ me? Are you serious?! That is-that is not cool." He climbed into his jeep, silently fuming.

"Uh…Stiles? I don't suppose you could…give me a ride?"

Stiles glowered. "Well, you did just pop my shoulder back into place. Get in. Don't talk. I need this time to process the fact that Scott called the girl he has been over-protecting for the last months to baby-sit me."

Alison climbed into the passenger seat. "Stiles, I-"

"No!" Stiles snapped. "Silence!" He sighed. "Sorry. I'm just feeling a little…slighted. Underestimated. You know."

"Yeah," Alison said softly. "I know. Scott'll figure it out eventually. He just needs time. And he needs you. He needs you in a way that-well, that he doesn't need me. Or even his mom. You're more than just his friend, Stiles. You're his brother. You're the one person that he would trust with absolutely anything. He wants to protect you because the thought of you dying absolutely terrifies him. You're what keeps him grounded. Even if he doesn't realize it all the time. And you stick with him, even when no one else does. Even when he's not sticking with you. So don't ever think that Scott doesn't need you. Even a big, bad werewolf needs a friend."

Stiles stared down at the floor. He didn't know what to say. "Uh…thanks. Alison. Wow. I still don't forgive him there."

"Oh, I don't expect you to," Alison said quickly. Stiles smiled.

"Really, Alison. Thank you. I'd be okay with you being my body guard any time. Don't-that came out weird. Don't tell Scott about this conversation."

Alison laughed. "My lips are sealed."

After dropping off Alison, Stiles drove a little slower. He wasn't looking forward to trying to explain his face to his dad. But he'd learned something.

Even if he was alone, Stiles would make sure that Scott never would be.

XXX

**A/N:** Fun fact: Working title for this fic is "Teen Wolf Angsty Whump Fest." Feedback appreciated! Love y'all!


	2. B is for Bullet

B is for Bullet

He stumbled through the woods, his hand clasped tightly to his side. Blood was leaking through his fingers, and he was wheezing, practically gasping for air. He could feel his pace slowing, his body growing steadily weaker.

_Why aren't I healing?_

He tripped over something and plummeted face-first into the ground. It took all of his willpower to get his arms beneath him and get slowly, slowly back to his feet. He swayed a little before continuing on. A few more feet, and the house came into view. He almost cried with relief. With the last of his strength, he dragged himself to the house, before falling on the porch unconscious.

XXX

"Come on. Open your eyes! There ya go."

Isaac furrowed his brow as his vision slowly came into focus. Derek was bending over him, face etched with concern.

"Who did this? Was it the Argents?" Derek asked, a touch of urgency in his voice. Isaac nodded, the movement making him dizzy. He almost passed out again, except Derek smacked him before he could.

"I have to remove the bullet. And it's going to hurt like a bitch. But until I remove it, you won't heal properly," Derek said.

"And…?"

"And what?"

Isaac looked at him. "There was definitely an 'and' at the end of that sentence. What aren't you telling me?"

Derek returned his gaze. "The Argents shot me once. With a bullet laced with Wolfsbane, and it very nearly killed me. If that's a Wolfsbane bullet, then even if I remove it your life is in danger. But at least we'll know and we may be able to save your sorry ass. So shut up and let me do it."

Isaac shut up, tensing as Derek extended his claws.

"This is going to hurt. Try not to attack me," Derek said under his breath.

Isaac let out a shout of pain as Derek dug a claw into the bullet wound. He felt himself turning, claws and fangs extending, the scream turning to a roar as pain shot through his torso. A red-eyed glare from Derek backed him off. And then Derek was holding something up, his hand red with Isaac's blood.

He cleaned the bullet off on his shirt before scrutinizing it again. "Silver," he announced. "Not lethal, but it'll take longer to heal."

Isaac let out a gasp of relief, then winced. "How much longer?"

"I don't know. Wait here."

Isaac laid on his back, chest heaving. He was still bleeding heavily, and someone digging a claw around in the bullet hole had, actually, made it worse. He closed his eyes and tried to focus on something other than the immense pain he was in.

Derek came back into the room, carrying a washcloth and bandage. He tossed them toward Isaac.

"Clean yourself up and get that bandaged. I'm sure as hell not doing it for you."

Isaac pushed himself up, groaning with the effort. He leaned against the wall, then set to work wiping the blood from his torso, then wrapping a bandage around his middle. By the time he was done, his hands were shaking and he'd worked up a sweat.

"Hey, Isaac. Next time you do something stupid, like getting yourself shot, don't expect me to take care of it for you," Derek called at him.

Isaac just rolled his eyes. Derek was an Alpha, and Isaac was his pack. Right now, his only pack. But he appeased him, for the time being.

"Got it, Derek," he replied humbly. He leaned his head against the wall and closed his eyes for some well-deserved sleep.

XXX

**A/N:** Forgot my disclaimer last time. Teen Wolf is, unfortunately, not mine. Boo.


	3. C is for Crash

C is for Crash

"Thanks for the ride, Stiles," Scott said as he got into Stiles' jeep.

"No problem. Though, I can't say I'm surprised that your tires got slashed. One of the twins?" Stiles answered, starting the car.

"I dunno. Probably."

"You did sort of deserve it," Stiles pointed out.

Scott made a face. "Exactly whose side are you on?"

Stiles just grinned as he pulled out of the school parking lot, wisely changing the subject. "So, what's it like having Isaac living with you? I mean, I imagine it sucks to be your mom. Having one teenage werewolf is hard enough, and now she has two."

"Hey! We're not _so_ bad! I mean, sure, when we fight we usually break something. And we eat a lot. And we're out late a lot of the time. And sometimes we get bloodstains on the furniture. But that's it!"

Stiles snorted. "That's all, huh? Yeah, your mom's getting off easy."

Scott looked a little embarrassed. "Okay, so maybe we give my mom a little extra work. I'll have to admit, though, it's kind of nice. Her knowing. You ever consider telling your dad?"

Stiles' face fell. "Naw. I mean, yeah, I've considered it. But I can't-I can't tell him. He wouldn't believe me. And even if he did, I don't want him to be in more danger, you know?"

"Yeah. I get it. But if you ever do wanna tell him, I'll help you, okay?"

Stiles tried to smile. "Thanks, man."

Suddenly, a dark shape darted into the road.

"Stiles, look out!" Scott screamed.

Stiles swerved, and with screeching tires and breaking glass and twisting metal, everything went dark.

XXX

"Stiles?" Scott twisted his head around, trying to see his friend. "Stiles?"

He frowned, trying to get his bearings. He finally figured out that the jeep was on its side, driver's side down. He drove an elbow through the window, shielding himself from the falling glass. Then. He reached out his arm, digging his claws into the door, and unbuckled the seatbelt, successfully releasing himself without landing on top of Stiles. With a grunt, he heaved himself out of the car window, perching on the side. He stuck his head back down into the car.

Stiles was crumpled awkwardly, blood on the side of his head and face.

He wasn't moving.

"Hang on, Stiles. I'm gonna get you out of there," Scott muttered. He wasn't sure exactly how to do that. Pulling him out of the passenger side door would be sufficiently difficult. The front windshield was a better bet. He jumped down to the ground, wincing as pain shot up through his left leg and chest. He hadn't noticed his injuries until now, but he didn't really care. His primary concern right now was getting Stiles out of the jeep, and he could feel himself healing anyway.

Looking around quickly to make sure no one saw what he was about to do, Scott made a fist and drove it into the windshield, grateful when it turned out to be safety glass. Extending the claws of his right hand, he slashed away the seatbelt, then put a hand under each of Stiles' armpits.

"'Kay, Stiles, on three," Scott muttered. "One-two-_three_!" With a grunt, he heaved Stiles out of the car.

"Scott! Stiles! Holy hell, you guys okay?"

Scott looked up in surprise to see Danny running toward them.

"I'm-I'm alright. I don't know about Stiles," Scott answered. He felt a jolt of worry. He really had no idea if Stiles was even-holy crap. He put two fingers to Stiles' neck, relieved to feel a pulse.

"I'm gonna call an ambulance," Danny said.

Scott nodded. "Yeah. Yeah, that's a good idea." He tapped Stiles' cheek, hoping for some kind of response. "Come on, buddy. Come on, Stiles. Wake up."

Stiles remained stubbornly unconscious. There was a small puddle of blood forming on the ground beneath his head, and he was frighteningly pale.

"Scott, they're on their way. They'll be here in, like, seven minutes. How's Stiles?"

Scott grimaced at that. "I-I don't know. His head's bleeding a lot, but that's the only blood I see-I don't know, Danny-he hasn't woken up even for a second, and that's a bad sign-holy crap."

Danny took his hands. Scott hadn't even noticed they were shaking.

"Scott, listen to me," Danny said. "Your mom's a nurse, right? You've gotta know _something_. Remember what you know."

Scott nodded as Danny let go of his hands and gently directed him back to Stiles. "Yeah. Okay, good idea. His skin is clammy, and he's really pale and…" He took Stiles' wrist in one hand. "…and his pulse is fast. Which means he's probably going into shock, only…I don't know if a head injury usually leads to shock. Which means there could be another injury."

Doing his best to keep his hands steady, he lifted Stiles' shirt up. The air rushed from his lungs.

"Holy shit."

Stiles' abdomen was swollen and a deep purple. "Holy shit," Scott repeated. "This is not good."

"What is that?" Danny asked behind him, sounding more than slightly horrified.

"Internal bleeding. But there's nothing we can do about that right now. Right now we need to focus on trying to stop his head bleeding and treating the shock. Danny, there's a first aid kit in the back of the jeep. Could you grab it for me?" Scott was surprised that he was able to think clearly through the panic that was eating him.

Danny returned to his side, first-aid kit in hand. Scott took it with a muttered thanks and fumbled with it for a minute before getting it open. He took out a pad of gauze and pressed it gently to the wound on Stiles' head, carefully putting pressure on it to stop the bleeding.

"His fingernails are turning blue," Danny said.

Scott felt a jolt of fear. Things were getting worse. Stiles was getting worse. "Uh-okay. We can deal with this." He pulled his sweatshirt off and draped it over Stiles. Danny got the drift and followed suit.

"Aren't we supposed to elevate his feet or something?" Danny asked.

"Normally, yes. But he's got a head injury so, no. All we can do now is monitor his breathing and wait for the ambulance," Scott replied. He was suddenly drained, the energy that had been coursing through him gone. He slumped to the ground, chest heaving.

"Whoa, man. You okay? I mean, you were in the car, too, right?"

"I'm fine," Scott replied. He sat up, cocking his head to the side.

"What?"

"Sirens. I hear sirens. They're almost here," Scott said, relieved.

Danny grabbed Scott's arm. "That's good because I don't think he's breathing."

Scott fought back the wave of panic that threatened to overcome him as he positioned himself next to his friend and started CPR.

"Come on, Stiles, _come on_," he muttered. He paused, checked for breathing. There wasn't any. Scott pumped again, his voice raised almost to a shout. "Come on, Stiles! Come on! Come_ on_!"

And then there was a shuddery gasp. The gentle rise-and-fall of Stiles' chest was the most beautiful thing Scott had ever seen as he sat back, his breath coming in relieved gasps. He quickly wiped tears from his face.

"It's okay," Danny said. "I won't tell anyone."

The ambulance was a welcome sight as it screamed down the road to them. Paramedics unloaded out of the back of the ambulance. One of them put a neck brace on Stiles before they got him onto a gurney and into the back of the ambulance. Scott climbed in back.

"You want me to follow?" Danny asked.

"Uh…" Scott was a little taken aback. "Uh, sure. That would…yeah."

Then one of the paramedics pulled the doors shut and they sped away.

XXX

Danny stood up. He'd gotten to the hospital a little after Scott and Stiles, and had been sitting in the waiting room with Scott for over an hour.

"Hey, Scott. I'm gonna head home and finish up some homework. Do you need me to bring you anything?" Danny asked.

Scott looked up at him in surprise. "No, I'm okay. Why are you doing this, Danny?"

Danny shrugged. "You guys have done the same for me. Twice. I'm returning the favor."

"Thanks. I don't know what would've happened if you hadn't pulled over. I owe you one."

"No you don't. Hang in there, Scott."

Scott waved one last time as Danny disappeared around the corner. A commotion from down the hall drew Scott's attention.

"I don't care! I'm not only his father, I am also the _sheriff of this town_, so let me see him!"

"I understand that you're the sheriff, Stilinski, but Stiles is getting prepped for surgery. I can't let you see him. Do you want me to have you escorted out?" A male nurse was

"You can't have me escorted out, I'm the sheriff!"

"Hey, that is enough! Both of you! Adam, go back to work, I'll handle the sheriff."

Scott looked up. His mom was standing between two fully grown, angry, testosterone-heavy men. And she looked the most intimidating of the three. The nurse, Adam, gave the sheriff a final glare before stalking off.

"Listen, Sheriff. I know you're worried about your son, but he's going into surgery. Now is really not the time. I'll get you in to see him as soon as possible, alright?"

Sheriff Stilinski nodded. He was fighting tears. "I can't lose him, Melissa," he said softly. "He's all I have. He's stubborn and always gets these ridiculous ideas and is too smart for his own good and sometimes he can be a downright pain-in-the-ass. But he's my-he's my son. He's far from perfect but-he's perfect."

Melissa wrapped her arms around him, and after a moment's hesitation, he returned the gesture.

"He'll be okay. Don't worry. He'll be okay."

"How's Scott?"

Scott inhaled sharply, looking away.

"He's…he's doing okay. He's worried," Melissa answered.

"I saw the car, Melissa. I don't understand how he got out of there without a single scratch."

Melissa paused. Scott could hear her heart racing. He held his breath, waiting for her answer. "I don't know. I really don't. It's a miracle both those boys weren't killed. Look, I've got a patient whose medications are due. Are you going to be okay?"

Sheriff Stilinski sighed. "Yeah, I'll be fine."

Scott stared at the floor as Stiles' dad walked over and sat in the chair next to him.

"I heard what you did for Stiles. Danny told me. You saved my son's life," Sheriff Stilinski said quietly. "Thank you, Scott."

"You don't have to thank me."

"Yes, I do. Thank you."

Scott nodded. "Yeah."

They both looked down, the silence between them charged and heavy.

"Scott. You remember that night at the station, with Matt?" Sheriff Stilinski finally said.

Scott snorted. "You think I'd forget?"

"You're right. Sorry. Stupid question. But that's not the point. Scott, you got _shot_. I saw the wound, and the blood. And then Matt knocked me out. The next time I saw you, you were fine."

Scott's heart pounded against his chest. He didn't know what he was supposed to say. He couldn't tell him the truth. But it wasn't an easy thing to explain away. So he tried his best.

"It was a graze. It looked a lot worse than it was. My mom saw all the blood and panicked. But it wasn't really that bad. She fixed me up while you were out," Scott said. He sighed, fighting back tears. "Look, I don't get it either, okay? It's not-it's not fair. That I got out of there without a scratch while Stiles is in there getting surgery. It's not right. If I could trade places with him, I would without a second thought. But I can't. I'm sorry. I'm sorry that bad things happen to good people. I'm sorry that Stiles was hurt. I'm just-I'm sorry."

The sheriff broke into tears. Scott sat awkwardly, unsure what to do. He finally reached out and put a hand on his shoulder.

"You're right Scott. It's not fair. It's not fair that this shit keeps happening in my town. It's not fair that my son could die. It's not fair that's she's gone," Sheriff Stilinski said, burying his head in his hands.

"He'll be okay. It's Stiles. He's always okay. Just give it a few days, and he'll go right back to being his stubborn, pain-in-the-ass self."

The sheriff wiped at his face as he sat up. "You're right. He'll be just fine. And so will you, unless you tell him you saw me crying. In which case I will lock you in a holding cell for a week."

Scott smiled at that. "Got it, Sheriff."

XXX

Scott was wrong. It had been four days, and Stiles was not back to his annoying, pain-in-the-ass self. He was worse. Concussed and high on painkillers, he was an emotional train wreck, and his humor was now bad enough to have Scott seriously considering jumping out the window.

"Hey, Scott."

Scott sighed. "Yeah, Stiles?"

"Why shouldn't you write with a broken pencil?" Stiles' words were a little slurred, a goofy grin on his face. Scott bit back a groan.

"Why?"

"Because it's _pointless_! Get it? Pointless! Ha."

Scott looked longingly toward the window. How much more of this was he going to have to endure?

"Scott?"

"Yes, Stiles?"

"I don't remember a lot. About the crash. Well, I don't remember much about that whole day, actually. But I heard what happened. What you did. And, I just wanted to say…what I mean is…."

Scott shifted in the plastic chair. "Yeah, Stiles?"

Stiles cracked a grin. "Did you like the mouth to mouth?"

Scott swatted at him, laughing. "Don't flatter yourself! Man, we gotta get you off those drugs. They're giving you delusions of grandeur."

Stiles let out a long sigh, his head sinking into the pillows. "I'm glad you're not afraid to make out with me to save my life. Thanks, Scott."

Scott rolled his eyes. "You're welcome, Stiles."

Stiles was already snoring.

XXX

**A/N: **That was not intended to be slash-y but then I read it. And it seems that way. It wasn't supposed to be, but ya know, interpret it as you will. Also, I have ideas for what to do for each letter. However, they are by no means set in stone, so if you have an idea for me, let me know in a review or PM. I'd love to hear your suggestions! I am especially desperate for a whump-y/angsty prompt for the letter 'o'.


	4. D is for Drowning

D is for Drowning

Stiles' heart pounded against his chest. This was where he'd heard the screams coming from, but he didn't see anyone.

"Hello?" he called hesitantly. He swallowed back the fear that was threatening to seize him. He was a good swimmer, but ever since Matt had died, he'd been a little apprehensive of water. It didn't help that the last time he was at the school pool, he'd been keeping Derek from drowning while trapped by Jackson the kanima.

He cleared his throat and tried again. "Is anyone here?" His voice echoed around the room.

Great. He felt kind of stupid now. He could chalk it up to lack of sleep, but the truth was Stiles was terrified. He was losing his mind.

A small sound behind him made him whirl around, only to have a fist slam into his face. He fell to the ground, putting an arm up defensively. He frowned, lowering his arm a little.

"Who the hell are you?"

The man, covered head to toe in black, didn't answer. At least, Stiles assumed he was a man, though, he supposed, it could be a really flat, shapeless girl. Instead he grabbed Stiles by the front of his shirt and hauled him to his feet. Stiles gritted his teeth and put a knee between the assailant's legs. The man-and he was a man, as evidenced by his reaction-doubled over and let out a string of curses under his breath. Stiles let out a triumphant whoop and took off for the door.

He didn't get far; the man grabbed the back of his shirt and pulled him back. Stiles fell, hitting his head on the concrete, hard enough that he couldn't see for several seconds. When he sat up, he was overtaken by dizziness. He reached back and touched the back of his head. His fingers came back covered in blood.

"Son of a bitch," he muttered. The man, apparently recovered from the blow to his manliness, dragged Stiles up again.

Just then, the door burst open, and Scott came running in. "Hey! Put him down!" he shouted.

_Poor choice of words_, Stiles thought as he hit the water.

He was a good swimmer, but the fact that he'd just been possibly concussed was making it incredibly difficult. His head finally broke the surface long enough for him to get a breath of air and to see Scott caught up in a fight with the stranger before going back under again. His clothes were weighing him down, dragging him to the bottom of the pool, and his head was pounding something fierce.

_No._ He wasn't going to give in. He fought his way to the surface again, gulped down air, went back under.

His energy was waning; he knew he wasn't going to make it out again, not unless he had help.

His conversation with Ms. Morell came into the front of his mind. He'd talked then about how much easier, how painless it would be, to just give in. To succumb to the water, until the pain and the fear melted away. He'd been right about that whole head-feeling-like-it-was-exploding thing. It sucked out loud. Even worse, though, were his lungs. They burned, tightening painfully in his chest. It was like a panic attack, only about a hundred times worse. He was ready to let the water in and end the pain.

And then, he remembered something else from the conversation, something Ms. Morell had said, a quote from Churchill or someone.

"If you're going through hell, keep going."

He had to keep going, only now there was darkness at the edge of his vision, growing until it swallowed him.

XXX

Scott let out a groan as the opposing team sunk another three-pointer. Beacon Hills had a pretty good lacrosse team; the same could not be said for their basketball team. They were getting killed out there, like they had the other four games that season. It almost made him want to join the team, just to help them win one.

A sudden hand gripped his arm, making him jump.

"Geez! You made me…Lydia, what's wrong?"

Lydia's eyes were wide with panic. "You have to get to the pool," she said frantically, pulling him to his feet. "Now."

"Why? Lydia, what's wrong?"

"Stiles is in danger."

Scott moved faster, taking the stairs two at a time and leaving Lydia behind. He couldn't afford to wait. He ran faster, praying that he would get there in time. He burst into the building. Someone was holding Stiles by the front of his shirt.

"Hey!" he cried. "Put him down!"

And then the man pushed Stiles into the pool. Scott charged the guy, but he was fast. He grabbed Scott's arm and twisted with surprising strength.

_Another werewolf?_

"I'm not a werewolf, Scott, if that's what you're thinking," the man said.

No, then. He looked over at Stiles. He came, spluttering, to the surface before going back under. He was struggling more than he should be. Scott saw, then, the blood on the concrete. Stiles' blood. He let out a roar of anger and struck at the man again. Again, the man deflected him.

"You're being sloppy, Scott. Why don't you take your claws out? They might help." The man sounded more amused than anything.

_See if he's still so amused when I _do_ take my claws out._ He closed his eyes, feeling the familiar surge of anger and adrenaline coursing through him, his senses sharpening. When he opened them, he knew they were glowing yellow. In a flash, he grabbed the man around his throat. The man tried to pry Scott's hands away from his neck, with no success.

"I could kill you right now," he growled. "You wanted to see the claws. Remember that." And then he smashed the man's head against the railing by the pool and let him fall unconscious to the ground. He turned to the pool, then, and dove in.

He looped his arms under Stiles' armpits and pulled him out of the water, heaving him out of the pool. Heart pounding, his laved his fingers together and put his palm to Stiles' chest, then started compressions.

"Comeoncomeoncomeon," he muttered.

And then Stiles coughed, a painful, barking cough, mucky water spewing from his mouth. Scott turned him on his side, shaky with relief.

"That's it, Stiles. There ya go. Good. Get all that water out of there. That's it. You're okay," Scott said quietly, patting his friend's back.

The coughing subsided and Stiles lay on his side panting.

"You okay?"

Stiles nodded. Scott frowned as he noticed the blood running down his friend's neck. "Your head looks pretty bad. And you almost just drowned. I'm going to take you to the hospital, okay?"

"No!" Stiles gasped. "Please no."

Scott sighed. "Fine. I'll take you home and have my mom check you out. Then, if she says you have to go to the hospital, you have to go. Deal?"

Stiles nodded again. "Who was that guy?" he asked.

Scott's head snapped up. The man was gone.

"I don't know. But we'll find him. Come on." He helped Stiles to his feet and they made their way out to the jeep.

XXX

Stiles woke up gasping, struggling to breath. He was drowning drowning drowning, and there was nothing he could do.

"Stiles! Stiles, hey, buddy!" Strong arms wrapped around him, holding him close. "Hey, I'm here. You're okay. You feel me breathing, Stiles? Breathe like me. Breathe like me. There you go."

"Dad," he whimpered.

"Hey, Stiles. How you feelin'? You had quite the night last night. You don' okay?"

Stiles took a shaky deep breath. "Yeah. Yeah, I think I'm okay. My head hurts, though."

His dad smiled faintly. "Yeah, a concussion will do that to you. Listen, son, I've got to go to work. And you are _not_ going to school. I know how disappointed you must be. There's Gatorade for you in the fridge and your pain meds are on the counter by the microwave. Take two at a time, every eight hours. It's on a sticky note just in case you forget."

Stiles heaved a shaky sigh. "Thanks, Dad."

Sheriff Stilinski planted a kiss on his forehead. "I love you, son. I'm glad you're okay. Stay out of trouble while I'm gone, alright?"

"I love you too, Dad. And I'll try," Stiles answered. He listened as the car drove away, then pulled himself out of bed. He sat on the edge for a long time, thinking.

He knew he wasn't okay, and last night had made things worse. But he had to try. For his dad, for his friends, he had to try. He looked in his mirror and put on a brave face. He could do this.

XXX

**A/N: **The man in black will probably return in a later chapter. Also, as before, suggestions are welcome! This time, I'm looking for prompts beginning with 'u'. Thanks for sticking with me, guys!


	5. E is for Extraction

E is for Extraction

"Stiles, what's wrong?"

Stiles looked up at Scott. "What? Nothing. Nothing's wrong."

Scott sighed. "Stiles, you've hardly said two words to me all day. I know something's up. What is it?"

Stiles frowned, his lower lip emerging just slightly, like that of a petulant child. "Nothing," he insisted. "Just, my jaw's a little sore, that's it."

Scott raised an eyebrow at him. "Have you been to the dentist lately?"

Stiles let out an indignant sound. "Do you doubt my self-hygiene? I would have you know that in all my sixteen years, I have not once had a cavity. Not. One."

Scott snorted. "That's not why I was asking. Do you think it could be your wisdom teeth coming in?"

Stiles' eyes widened. "You think that's it?"

"Well, it could be. I mean, I dunno. It's just a theory…Are you okay? You look a little pale."

Stiles' eyes were wide, his face white as a sheet. "If it is my wisdom teeth coming in, do you know what that means? It means giant freaking needles, _in my mouth._ I think I'd rather have another session in the basement with Gerard than that."

Scott winced. He still felt guilty about that. "Look. You're going to have to go to the dentist eventually. Better to get it over with, right?"

"Uh, no. I'd like to keep all my teeth. Shouldn't you be going?" Stiles guided Scott toward the door.

"Stiles. I-"

"-really have to go! It's okay, I understand. Bye!" He slammed the door shut, leaving Scott standing on the porch.

XXX

"I hate you," Stiles grumbled. Three weeks had gone by, and now they were in the dentist's office waiting to get his wisdom teeth taken out.

"Stiles, it was going to have to happen eventually. It's not my fault. You should just be glad I like you enough to agree to watch you after."

Stiles glared at Scott. "I don't need you to babysit me."

"Stiles, you're going to be high as a kite. Have you ever seen those YouTube videos of the people who get their wisdom teeth out? And then they cry over cats and rap about Jesus? That's going to be you. I have a moral obligation to make sure you don't kill yourself. Or someone else."

"If you videotape me, I swear I _will_ kill you. Painfully," Stiles warned.

"Stiles Stilinski?"

Stiles looked up. A woman was standing in the doorway looking at a clipboard.

"Yeah?" he said, his voice coming out as a squeak.

"The doctor is ready for you. Follow me."

Stiles stood up slowly.

"You want me to come with you?" Scott asked.

Stiles nodded gratefully. As they walked, Stiles started talking quietly.

"'Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil: for thou art with me.'"

"Quit being so melodramatic," Scott said with a smile. Stiles grinned back, though he was still obviously nervous.

"Thanks for coming with me, man."

"Alright, Stiles, we're gonna have you lay down right here," the woman said. Stiles settled into the chair, flinching as she put a cold alcohol-soaked cotton ball against the inside of his elbow.

"Okay. We're going to go ahead and put you all the way under for this. The anesthetic will only take a few seconds, and when you wake up, you'll be out four teeth. Now, you're gonna feel a little pinch. I want you to take a deep breath for me…good…and let it out."

Stiles winced as the needle went into his arm. Suddenly, there was an intense itchiness in his crotch.

_That's awkward. I can't scratch that in public,_ he thought. And then he was asleep.

XXX

Sheriff Stilinski got to the dentist's office a little after Stiles' surgery was done.

"How's he doing?" he asked Scott anxiously.

"He's just coming out of it. We should go in there so he doesn't freak out," Scott answered. He was more grateful than he'd admit that Stiles' dad had arrived. He really didn't want to deal with high confused Stiles on his own.

When they went into the room, Stiles was trying to sit up.

"Gotta…gotta go," he slurred, his words muffled by the gauze in his mouth.

"Stiles, lean back for me. Come on," the woman from before was saying.

"I gotta go," Stiles insisted.

"Hey, Stiles. Buddy, I'm here. Do what she says. Lean back," Sheriff Stilinski said.

"Hey, Dad. Scott…you're here too?" He paused, a frown gracing his features. "I feel…I feel funny. I'm so confused…"

"I know. I know you're confused. You just got your wisdom teeth out, remember? In a little while, they'll get a wheelchair up here for you and we can go out to the car and I'll take you and Scott home, alright? Stiles?"

Stiles was staring at Scott, a worried look on his face. "Scott," he whispered loudly. "Your eyes are yellow… And your…your fangs are showing."

Scott cleared his throat, plastering on a smile. "I'm pretty sure my eyes aren't yellow Stiles. And I don't have fangs." He glanced over at Sheriff Stilinski, who looked like he was trying not to laugh.

Stiles narrowed his eyes. "No. They're yellow….I thought…I'm so confused."

"It's okay, son. How are you feeling?"

Stiles blinked lethargically. "I can' feel m' face. Wha's in my mouth?" He reached up, touching the gauze that was sticking out of his mouth. "What is this?"

"No, no, no! Stiles, you need to leave that alone. Don't touch that," Sheriff Stilinski said quickly, gently pulling Stiles' hand down away from his mouth.

"Scott…why aren' you in school?" Stiles eyebrows were knit together and he looked like he might cry.

"It's summer vacation, Stiles. Remember? No school," Scott answered.

One of the doctors was talking to Sheriff Stilinski now, about caring for Stiles' teeth, and his coming down off the anesthetic, and his medication, and a dozen other things Scott wouldn't have been able to keep straight.

Stiles grabbed Scott's shirt, eyes wide.

"Did I turn?" he said urgently under his breath.

"No, no, Stiles, of course not. Who would have turned you?"

"'m not a werewolf?"

"No! Stiles, you're you. Just you, human, pure and simple," Scott assured his friend.

Stiles relaxed a little, looking relieved. "Tha's good."

A nurse came in with a wheelchair.

"You ready to go, kiddo?" Sheriff Stilinski asked, now holding a pile of papers about dry socket and how long Stiles' gums were going to bleed and when the stitches should dissolve.

"Sure…go where?"

"Home. Scott, could you help me out here?"

Scott hurried to his side, taking one of Stiles' arms. Sheriff Stilinski was holding the other one. They helped Stiles up and got him in the wheelchair.

"I c'n walk," Stiles, said, trying to stand. His dad put a hand on his shoulder and pushed him back into the wheelchair.

"I know you can, Stiles. Just not at the moment. Sit down."

Stiles sat heavily in the wheelchair, pouting. Sheriff Stilinski and Scott exchanged and amused glance as they wheeled him out.

XXX

"Thank you for doing this Scott. I should be home by nine at the very latest. I'm not sure what's there, but help yourself to whatever food you want." Sheriff Stilinski gave Scott a clap on the shoulder. "Hang in there."

Scott watched as the sheriff's car pulled away, then went into the living room. Stiles was sprawled on the couch, his head propped up with pillows. He looked downright miserable. That could have just been because of what was on the TV though, because whatever it was, it was absolutely awful.

"Stiles, what are you watching?"

He shrugged. Scott hit the info button. _South Pacific._ And it was, like, four hours long. And a musical. "Let's find something else, yeah?"

"No!" Stiles cried. "I like it."

"Stiles, you hate musicals."

"Not this one," he said shortly.

Scott sighed. It was going to be a long day. It wasn't long before Stiles was snoring lightly. Scott smiled and leaned back in the chair.

He hadn't even realized he'd fallen asleep until he was awoken by the sound of a landmine, and looked up just in time to see Harry Connick Jr. get blown up. He looked over to see if Stiles was awake. Only Stiles wasn't there.

Scott stood up in alarm. "Stiles!" he called. He walked into the foyer. "Stiles?" He heard a small noise from the kitchen-something akin to a whimper. He ran in. "Oh, man. What happened?"

Stiles was sitting on the kitchen floor. There was a cut on his hand, and he was staring down at the blood with a horrified look on his face. "Jus' wanted an or'nge…" he said pitifully. Scott looked up and spied the orange sitting on the counter. And the knife next to it.

Scott knelt next to Stiles, taking his friend's hand in his own. He examined the cut. "It's not so bad," he decided. "We're gonna have to wash it though."

Scott helped Stiles to his feet. At this point, Stiles was sniffling, rubbing tears from his eyes with his good hand. He looked pathetic. He was definitely not the fun kind of high. Scott ran Stiles' hand under the tap water and cleaned out the cut, keeping a hold on his friend's arm the whole time to try and alleviate the pain. Then, he took the first-aid kit form the top of the fridge and rubbed some antibiotic ointment on the cut.

"There," Scott said once he'd finished. "Done."

"Thanks," Stiles murmured. Scott followed him as he shuffled back to the living room. South Pacific was over, and now there was something called Bonanza on. Stiles settled back into his spot on the couch before changing the channel, finally stopping on Fight Club. He'd only watched about ten minutes before he fell asleep again.

Scott smiled and got up quietly. He went into the kitchen and washed the knife and wiped away any blood on the floor and counter. Then, he threw a bag of microwave popcorn in the microwave. He munched on it as he watched the movie, Stiles snoring softly on the couch. It really hadn't been a terrible day. In fact, it had almost felt…_normal._ Like, pre-bite normal. Scott sighed contentedly. He needed more of this. He'd been so busy lately being a werewolf that he was forgetting about the human things. That was why he needed Stiles. Yeah, at the very beginning, he'd helped Scott learn to control it. But even now, Scott realized, Stiles was the thing that kept him human.

"Thanks, Stiles," he said softly.

XXX

**A/N: **So, I had to consult my big sister on this one, as she's had her wisdom teeth out and I have not. (That's where the whole itchy crotch thing came from. And also we totally watched Fight Club on TV after and she was uber confused, but so was I and I wasn't high.) Anyway, thanks for the support! Keep giving me ideas for prompts, guys, any letter! I may just end up using your idea!


End file.
